Cup of Life
by ForeverMATT
Summary: And then he was gone. Him, Matt, my roommate. Apparent orphan with a diploma, degree, and a career... MELLO'S POV


**Title:** Cup of Life

**Summary:** And then he was gone. Him, Matt, my roommate. Apparent orphan with a diploma, degree, and a career...

**Disclaimer:** I own nadda, zip, zilch.

**Author's Note:** Just a little shit fic I had to write to distract myself from temporary woes. Title has no real value or meaning.

...

* * *

The weather was bitchin' cold, but I've suffered worse so I play it off casual as if I'm not bothered. I take the small set of stairs with less grace than I'd planned, for ice caked the surface of each as well as the adjourning rail. Carefully getting to the top and managing not to slip even once, I read a small piece of paper that was taped to the door.

_New Roommate,  
__Don't knock. _  
_Don't try to ring the doorbell (it's broken anyways). _  
_There's a spare key under the mat._

I roll my eyes, not because of the message, but the sloppy penmanship. On wide-ruled paper -fringes on the side and everything- his hand writing was small to the point where I nearly had to squint to see, and his words were spaced obnoxiously far apart; his letters seemed to alternate between print and cursive and were consistent with a strange font I'd never encountered before.

I studied it, the way the words never quite touched a blue line and always indented needlessly; the way it was so obviously done in a hurry with a cheap BIC pen that was nearly out of ink -a fact that was only accountable for the sake of inkless divots and scribbles off to the side where someone had tried to coax more ink from a drying ballpoint.

Perhaps he was too cheap or too lazy to get one that actually worked?

Then again, ethics were no skin off my bones as long as I could accomplish what I needed in life. All I needed was a roof over my head at the end of the day. My previous living arrangement had been a complete disaster (I accidentally ran over someone's dog with a car I leased; then I tried to hide the evidence, got caught and had to go through a mess with the local police, and- let's save that tale for another time).

Anyways, I needed a place to stay. I found an ad in the paper -_yeah, even in this day and age, I'm not so tech-oriented that I don't read the paper-_ and I read that some 21 year old guy was renting this place, and he was requesting a roommate to pay half the rent.

There wasn't much else in the ad, save for a phone number, which I called. However, I never got a personal answer. Instead, a machine picked up and a recording played, saying something along the lines of:

_'The number you have dialed is imaginary. Please rotate your phone by 90 degrees and try again...'_

This of course had me puzzled as I lamely held the phone to my ear, but then there was a deep chuckle as the message continued.

_'Nah, seriously, I'm away from the phone right now; I don't carry it around like fucking life support or anything. If this is a telemarketer, fuck off. If this is Misa- I am not interested in being a Mormon. Your shit culture is fucked up. You can worship however you want, but stop telling me to join your cult! And, if this is anyone else, you probably got the wrong number, so please rotate your phone by 90 degrees and- Nah, just kidding again. If this is someone calling about my need for a roommate, just stop by; there's a key under the mat. Thanks!'_

I listened to the shitty and overly long message; I imagined that the owner of the voice was very lax with little to do. Probably worked minimum wage. Probably had a few tight-knit friends and not much else. Probably didn't plan on doing anything with his life... But, try as I may, I couldn't imagine what sort of face could go along with this sort of person. At best, my mind conjured a blackened silhouette.

So, stalling no longer, I reached under the shredded old door mat and fished for a key; I unlocked the door and opened up, stepping inside.

First room was the kitchen, nice and clean, beautiful even, with high counters with granite tops and semi-elegant stools, a black and burgundy sort of paint scheme, and no light aside from the filtered sunlight that poured through red curtains.

Stalking around the table, I pushed in a drawer that had been left partially open; then I proceeded to curiously check the cupboards and fridge. In my mind, I quoted Old Mother Hubbard because the cupboards were bare, save for a single cup of ramen, a pack of Oreos that were half gone, and a carton of strawberry flavored Whoppers -y'know, that shitty malt candy. And, that was quite literally all that was in the cupboards.

And then I investigated the fridge... which was loaded with alcohol and energy drinks. MONSTER, Redbull, REDDS, Budweiser, vodka, jack, scotch, and... waaay in the back was a carton of curdled milk that should have been tossed a long time ago.

I inwardly groaned at the ineptitude, but then I reminded myself that I just need a place to sleep and study, nothing more.

I sat at the table experimentally, imagining myself studying, back hunched eyes pouring over a textbook. -_Yeah, I could make this work if the price was right._

Getting up, I decided to tour the rest of the place. The living room had a couch, a coffee table, a tv and a few gaming consoles messily tangled together, and not much else. No pictures on the walls, nothing that would identify my roommate's physical appearance.

I found the bathroom next. It was too small and had a sink that had seen better days, a shower that was stained with God knows what, a towel rack, and a toilet. On the sink was a tooth brush, a cheap black comb, and disposable razor. -_Well, at least this guy is a little hygienic?_

Then I came across a closed door that had a piece of lineless paper tacked to it, words scrawled sloppily like before, but a bit larger, reading: _THIS IS YOUR ROOM. STAY OUT OF MINE._

So, I opened the door and looked inside, finding it moderately sized and empty with one large uncurtained window and a desk in the corner.

_So, this guy expected his roommate to be a scholar? Or...?_

I tried not to dwell on the matter too much, but if there was anything else to see in a place I planned to live in, I was going to see it, dammit.

So, I continued my tour and, upon seeing another closed door and faintly hearing music coming from the other side, I decided to meet and greet the guy who just might be my new living companion.

Grabbing the knob and giving a gentle turn, the door came open with ease and I poked my head in before the rest of me followed. What I saw surprised me.

The rest of the house had been fairly nice, but this... this room had holes in the walls, ripped posters hanging here and there, the window was busted and boarded; there was not a flat surface where cans and bottles weren't residing in excess. The bed was small and unmade, and my new roommate- oh, holy fucking shit, my new roommate... was sitting there, wearing boxers and goggles and _nothing_ else, a bottle of REDDS in hand as his head bowed close to his lap.

Attractive? Yeah, but not really. Nice body, but the stench of stale alcohol killed any good vibe I could've gotten from him.

His back was to me, and I wrestled the urge to speak up and make my presence known. But I resolved to keep quiet as he listened to some shitty GreenDay music and continued to drink, sweat rolling from his sides and down his back, hair dark and drenched.

When he finally looked up and noticed me, he grabbed a remote and turned his stereo off. Then he offered me the most ridiculous half-assed grin and said "Heeeeeyy. You... loook... haaawt." And then he laughed, but that laugh quickly turned into a hysterical giggle as he fell over on the bed, chest heaving, eyes closed, and body shimmering with heat and perspiration. "Ah, fuck, I'm just kidding, man," he managed between gulps of air and expulsions of mirth. But he sobered up quickly, sitting up and taking on proper posture and reducing the slur in his voice as he stated "You must be here about my ad. Rent is 700 buckaroos. You pay half- and by half, I mean you pay the bigger half. I'll pay 300, you pay 4."

I wanted so badly to give him a math lecture on what 'half' really meant, but he continued talking before I could.

"I'll keep the place loaded with booze and chips and chocolate and whatever, but you have to supply real food."

I looked at him oddly. He was serious, but his ideals weren't anything I'd consider normal. "Or," I told him "I pay half -$350- and supply my own shit, and you do the same."

He just looked at me like I'd grown a second head before swatting his hand at the air and saying "Leave if you want. It's my home, my rules." Then he got to his feet with surprising grace and approached, stopping only when we were mere inches apart.

_I almost expected him to kiss me, but of course I'd have to punch him in the balls for it if he did._

For a moment we just sized each other up; I took pride that I was about an inch taller than him.

Then, he turned away, doubled over and proceeded to vomit.

I scrunched up my face in distaste at his behavior and turned to leave the room, but not before clearly stating "I'll pay $350 and not a dime more. I'll have my shit moved in within a couple days. Keep your drinking shenanigans to yourself, keep your music turned down, and don't fuck with me when I'm studying."

There, I'd lain down the law the way I wanted it, and then I made a prideful exit, shutting the door on him just before he began to wretch again.

Then I went to sit my ass on the couch, finding it to be a lot more comfortable than it looked.

_Yeah, I'm gonna stay._

Money's tight right now, and I can't afford to be picky. There's no bugs or rodents, and the place is nice enough, minus the little shithole that is my roommate's little puke bucket and bedroom.

...

Over the next few days, I came and went, paid my half of this month's rent, got my personal belongings moved in and settled, and saw no sign of my roommate -not that I cared.

Then, when I'd just gotten comfortable in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and prepared to settle down with a book, he came into view, sober and fully clothed, hair red, washed and neatly combed. He looked like such a tool, but I wasn't about to tell him that. "You clean up good," I said simply, face awkwardly hid behind a book, though I could see him clearly over the brim.

He heaved a heavy sigh and adjusted those dorky goggles before leaving the room, going toward the kitchen and coming back with a beer.

"Are you ever sober?" I asked him incredulously.

But he bit back. "Are you ever not such a fucking bitch?"

I felt stricken by the comment, but rather than let it wound me, I retaliated, opening my mouth again. "You have no room to talk, you pissy alcoholic moron! Oh, how fucking shitty your life must be for you to want to drink it away! Bet you didn't even finish high school. Bet you're going nowhere in life, and you want everyone to throw you a fucking pity party!" I huffed and puffed, but I felt satisfied with what I'd said. That is, until he spoke again.

"You caught be at a bad time. A few days ago was the anniversary of my parents' death. I always take a week to mourn. Sorry if that's an inconvenience. But FYI, I graduated high school when I was 16. I excelled, I went to college, and I'm actually getting ready for an important business meeting where I'm going to pitch some new software I'm designing." And with that he slammed his beer down on the coffee table and went to retrieve a pair of nice looking shoes -some fancy Italian-whatever.

I suddenly felt like an under-achieving ass, and I didn't like it. "I'm sorry, man. I didn't know," I said lamely, the apology burning my tongue like something acidic.

He was quiet for the duration of time it took to put both shoes on and tie them neatly. It was only after that he bothered to respond. "It's fine, but you probably don't even know my name. You shouldn't judge people on first impressions, especially if you're wrong."

I nodded but kept my trap shut for the time being, not wanting to dig myself deeper than I already had.

"My name's Matt, by the way."

"Mello," I answered automatically, but I internally kicked myself for offering a nickname, unsure if I should use my birth name and keep things a bit more formal.

"Cool," he said easily, grabbing a nice jacket and heading for the front door. "I'll be out late. Don't fuck with my shit. And don't invite a bunch of people over. Other than that, I'm sure you can figure things out."

And then he was gone. Him, Matt, my roommate. Apparent orphan with a diploma, degree, and a career...

I just felt a little overwhelmed, like I was lacking. And I hated the feeling.


End file.
